Brilliance
by Carpe.Deum
Summary: Children at the Wammy House are intelligent. Near, Mello, Matt, and L are all shining examples of this. These four, however, do know that intellect is not the only form that brilliance shows itself in. Sometimes it disguises itself as lunacy.
1. Chapter 1

Brilliance

I do not own Death Note or its characters. I do own everything else.

* * *

Chapter One: First Impressions

The ten year old sighed. Things are so boring around here. The only things that seemed to stimulate the child were his lessons with Wammy (which had stopped today on account of his urgent need to leave), his occasional field trips with Roger (whom had left _with_ Wammy), and the sweets the caretakers provided him with (which tended to get boring after a while). He sighs, flipping through the pages of _A Tale between Two Cities_ for the umpteenth time. He snaps the book shut loudly, grumbles about being able to feel his brain rotting, and turns his head in an owl like fashion to scan the library's circumference. L Lawliet grumbled again, realizing that he had read every single book in that library at least thrice. Sitting in his peculiar manner, he held his head between his knees, trying to think of _something_ to stimulate him. The child prodigy banged his head a few times against his knee caps, hoping, _praying_ that some idea would fall out of his ears and land next to him on the cushiony sofa. Alas, nothing. L stood up, paced around the room four times, hoping he would find some interesting foot prints left by his fellow housemates.

Hark! A dark mark stood out against the beige carpet. Mud? He could sharpen his sleuthing skills and try to follow the dirty perpetrator! L threw himself against the ground, and groaned. The dark mark was nothing more than chocolate milk stain left by one of the younger children of the house. He sat up, scratching the back of his head. Well, might as well go find one of the caretakers and tell them about the stain. With many of them once being nurses, he knew how much they detested dirt, grime, and anything that held the possibility of germs. Which in fact, doesn't make it a really sensible decision to be working at an orphanage; a place spilling over with children, and curious ones at that. L pondered this thought as he descended the wooden staircase.

This was how the future super sleuth spent his days. Bored. Tired. Morose. Aloof. But mostly bored.

And so, our protagonist entered the foyer, looking for a caretaker and their familiar navy uniforms. His dark eyes searched the room, but found it bare of human life. Now that he thought about it, the manor _had_ seemed awfully quiet these past ten minutes. He bit on his thumb, wondering where everyone had gone and run off to. Hunched over as usual, L began to languidly make his way towards the entrance and its front gate and the sounds that it's direction held.

Once there, he found most of his housemates running, playing, doing whatever it is normal children do. That was normal. He found a handful of caretakers carefully (more like hawklike) watching those children play . Nothing odd there. What L _did_ find odd, however, was that a much larger handful of the caretakers seemed to be waiting at the front gate, peering anxiously from behind the wrought iron down the road. He nibbled on his thumb. Maybe this is what he had been waiting for. L picked up his stride so that he was able to stand a few feet behind Wammy's employees. Then he waited.

Soon enough, his adoptive father's familiar black auto pulled out in front of the gate. The caretakers scrambled to get it open before their superior had gotten out of the vehicle with Roger and Lord-knows-who-else. L chuckled slightly as this sight. They looked like a flock of pigeons that had scattered from the arrival of a cat. But back to reality.

It was Roger who stepped out of the auto first from the driver's side. He approached the ladies while pulling out a handkerchief and blotting his forehead before addressing them.

"Please set up a room close to Quilish's"

Two of the caretakers scrambled out of their flock and into the manor.

L frowned. His room was the closest to Wammy's. Competition? He hoped. Then his days of boredom would cease. Oh the fun that was to be had!

The child was lost in thought, biting on his thumb merrily, imagining the possibilities. He was too lost in thought to notice that his mentor had stepped out of his auto, and was gingerly guiding someone out of it. He was still oblivious as the figure emerged, was taken in by the caretaker's, and lead by the shoulder into the manor. L managed to snap out of his trance only when he heard one of the ladies in navy gasp out; "I have a terrible feeling about this one."

L winced, realizing he had made himself bleed from gnawing on his own flesh. His brow furrowed. That was stupid. He licked the new tear, and wondered what was so terrible about his competition. After all, he had to be just as brilliant as L was to end up getting a room close to the proprietor. L grinned in a cat-like manner, and swiftly ran to where he knew Wammy and Roger would be getting his rival comfortable. Having something to look forward to gave him energy, I suppose.

* * *

"Now, Quilish, you do realize what you are dealing with, correct?" Roger asked, worried. He blotted his neck. Being around this one, for some reason, made him nervous. They were just so… silent. Still. Dead. Roger had thought L, when they first were introduced, was scary. He was nothing compared to this one. He watched with an air of apprehension as his close friend fumbled around the house's newest resident, arranging throw pillows around them. The older gentlemen stood up, and sighed.

"I'm quite aware, old friend. But I'm positive that once that so-called 'medicine' wears off, things will be different"

Roger breathed heavily. How he hoped his friend was right.

"Wammy!" L gasped, leaning against the frame of the door. He was sweating slightly from his sprint. Quilish chuckled at the sight of the child, and wondered why on earth he had ran up here. His chuckles stopped as soon as he noticed Lawliet's expression. Now, the child's face was never very emotional, but those widened eyes and slightly opened mouth made Quilish worry.

"Something wrong L?" he asked, stepping towards the young genius.

"…he's a she…" he mumbled out, still bracing himself against the doorframe. Wammy's eyebrows shot up in a perplexed manner as he turned to peer at the young one seated behind him. He turned back to L, chuckling.

"Clever observation"

"Don't patronize me"

Wammy smiled, though it was barely visible under his mustache. He stepped over to his young protégé, grabbed him by the hand, and led him in front of the girl whom L seemed surprised by.

"L, this is Clairisse"

L stared blankly at the girl. She did the same to him, only there was no hint of thought going through her eyes. Lawliets were filled with thoughts. He decided to voice one of them.

"What are you wearing?" He was addressing the girl. She didn't respond, but continued to stare at him with hollow, unblinking, and dead eyes. No, she wasn't staring _at _him. She was detached, and in her own world. Those murky blue eyes were unfocused but piercing all the same.

"It's a straight-jacket, L" It was Roger who spoke this time. He blotted his upper lip.

"I suppose it's to restrain her"

Wammy didn't answer. It was a statement, not a question.

"We will be removing it, however. You won't need to fuss-"

"Why does she need to be restrained?"

The adults stayed silent for a moment, not sure how to address this. Wammy cleared his throat, imagining that the direct route would be the simplest.

"…L, do you know what schizophrenia is?"

* * *

"Schizophrenia" L read aloud. He sat across from Clairisse, whom he found out was two years his junior, in a rather comfy chair, reading from Merriam-Webster's Concise Dictionary. "A severe mental illness"

He frowned, slamming the book shut. "Well that's brilliant"

Clairisse had been at the Wammy House for three days, and L still had no idea what schizophrenia was. Wammy refused to tell him, and told him to do research. The little detective assumed this exercise was meant to ease his boredom. It was just giving him a headache. L huffed loudly, leaning forward on his knees, staring at the oddball before him. She had not moved from the seat Wammy had put her in. She had not eaten nor gone to the bathroom. She had not slept, she had just stared obliviously and precisely at the wall. She hadn't even blinked. L was starting to honestly think she was dead. The ten year old rose from his seat, sauntered over to her, and began having a staring contest with the corpse. She won within five minutes. L tried again. He hated losing, especially to a dead person.

After his eighth lose, L let out a frustrated yell right in Clairisse's face.

"What is wrong with you?!"

She blinked at the wall.

"Answer me!"

She blinked again, faster, as if waking from a dream. Or in her case, a nightmare.

L stomped his foot on the floor, frustrated with his boredom and the task Wammy had left him with. He did NOT want to take care of this, this CORPSE, much less try to figure out what the bloody hell schizophrenia was. He just wanted to go do something stimulating. He didn't notice her head turn slightly in his direction, or the fact she could now blink. He couldn't notice her feeble attempts to rub her eyes, or to push herself up from her seat. He didn't realize she was stumbling towards him. Well he did. After she fell flat on her face.

The boy, startled, jumped back about three feet, before he realized that maybe, just maybe, he should be helping her up. He grabbed her by the elbow, lifting her to her feet, and she grumbled something.

"What?"

She mumbled somthing a little louder, but he could still not make it out.

"Pardon??"

This time all he comprehend was 'ba-'. And then grumbles slurred together.

L figured Wammy would have an easier time with this than he would, so the 'brilliant' youth ran off to go find the gentleman, leaving the zombie on her own. The young detective, however, forgot the poor girl could barely stand, so when he and Wammy returned a good ten minutes later, they found her face down on the floor, legs crossed tightly.

Apparently she needed to go to the bathroom. And apparently, as L found out a few days later when all the 'medicine' had been out of her system, she did not like it when someone yelled in her face. L also found out that same day, that same instance actually, that she knew how to throw a punch.

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Hello! Hope you all enjoyed the first oneshot that introduces my character. I have more oneshots in reserve to upload, but I'm not sure in what order to upload them. :/ I was hoping you guys could tell me. Would you rather the oneshots be in chronological order, as they grow up, or jump around the Death Note universe timeline? PM me or review, please. Also, I'm looking for a beta reader. So if anyone is willing, let me know. Thank you guys!


	2. Chapter 2

Hiya everyone! I want to thank whoever looked at this story, and whoever is planning to keep looking at it. I specifically want to thank ActionFry, cause they reviewed, they added this story to their alert list, and they were willing to put up with me and become my beta reader. THANK YOU ACTIONFRY!!!

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Chapter 2: Hate

Words cannot describe how much he loathed Clairisse, but the little genius often tried to verbalize it.

He hated her.

He really truly disliked that girl with every tendon in every muscle in every _limb_ of his body.

The way she got under his skin so _easily_ bewildered and annoyed him. No one else had that ability, and it threw him off. It made him uncomfortable. Made him _hate_. And the fact that she punched him in the face didn't help either.

And you know what the worst part was? L was starting to believe the zombie _enjoyed_ irritating him.

For example, last week while the ten year old was lounging in his favorite room in the house, the library, he was minding his own business**—**reading a new book that Roger had bought him. And then that**—**that _zombie_ came in, looking for lord-knows-what, singing 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' at the top of her lungs. Very badly, for your information. As soon as she screeched out the last note, Lawliet could feel a vein in his left temple ready to explode.

With all the calmness the raven**-**haired boy could muster, he asked as nicely as he could with a twitching eyebrow**,** "Clairisse, can you tell me _why_ you are singing that?"

Her fingers, which had been running themselves along the spines of various books, came to a dead halt as her head turned in an owl-like fashion to gawk at L with even _more_ owl-like eyes. She rolled her eyes, as if the reason why she was singing it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"First of all, dear L, call me Claire. _Clairisse_ is an old woman's name. Secondly, the stars are rather lovely today, aren't they?"

It was L's turn to roll his eyes. He scratched the back of his head, sighing at her. Did she not realize it was twelve in the afternoon, and one cannot see the stars?

"First of all, I apologize for calling you that, _dearest_ Claire. Secondly, you can't see the stars right now. It's still light out."

She turned her body to completely face the young brooding genius, a book about astronomy in hand. On her way out of the library, she stated matter-of-factly, "True, you cannot see them now, but they are still there behind the blue sky. I said nothing about seeing them. The fact that they are not visible does not dim their loveliness—don't you agree?"

As she passed L and turned the corner out of the library, L's grip tightened on his knees. What kind of logic was that?! The fact remained that she had beaten him, and the score stood L: 0. Claire: 1.

Seven days since that incident, many others similar to it have occurred. The score stands now L: 0. Claire: 15.

Another reason for L's dislike of the girl was that she kept beating him.

And he _hated_ to lose.

_Especially_ to a _zombie_.

Because of the incident at the library, and many other similar to it, L deemed it necessary to find a new place for himself. Luckily for the boy, an oak tree in the woods behind the manor was just the place. He's rather comfortable up in that oak tree, hiding among the leaves, enjoying the breeze and his bag of butterscotch candies. He was content with his newfound sanctuary, seeing as none of his housemates tended to come back here. If they did, they wouldn't see him and wouldn't bother him. None of the caretakers seemed to come back here either. And, to L's knowledge, Claire had yet to set foot out of the house, so the chances of her coming out here were-

"_Into the woods, it's time to go, I hate to leave. I have to, though. Into the woods—it's time and so I must begin my journey…"_

--slim. _Damn_. L thought too soon. Claire had just appeared, singing badly once again, dressed in a flannel shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers. She held a large basket in both hands, and—while still singing—scanned the bushes around the tree for berries.

"Ooooh. Which way did Mary say the berries were? I hope I don't get lost…"

She spun around, and looked up into the tree L was hiding in. He frowned, hugging the trunk hoping she didn't see him. Thankfully, the plentitude of leaves hid him well.

"Mr. Oak Tree," she said, still looking up into the leaves. "Can you tell me which way the berry bushes are?"

L, acting quickly without a second thought, grinned malevolently as he took advantage of the strange fact that the girl thought that the tree would actually answer her. He disguised his voice by lowering it a few octaves and raising its volume a few decibels.

"NO. GO FIND THEM YOURSELF!"

"But you just said they were to the east**…**"

…_What?_ L was utterly confused now. He bit his thumb, thinking of what to say next.

"NO I DIDN'T**…**"

"…Yes you did. And your voice completely changed. I'm listening to the first voice. Good day!"

And she headed off towards the east, swinging the basket wildly, still singing horridly—which sent birds up in the canopy up into a frenzy. L bit his thumb hard, annoyed that she had won again. He jumped out of the tree, angrily stomping the ground with his odd toes before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Hunched over as usual, he headed towards the kitchen.

He needed cake.

And maybe some tea.

The score stands L: 0.5 , just for his effort. Claire: 16.

* * *

Mary was worried.

And about quite a few things actually.

The caretaker, in her mid**-**fifties with dark hair heavily streaked with gray pulled back in the required bun, had always been a worrywart. Being a nurse at poorer hospitals tended to make one worry whether the place had enough money to give their patients everything they needed.

But that was years ago.

Now, she was worried about her pie. Claire had been gone for a while now, and she needed to get back with the berries before sunset. She could only imagine what the poor thing would be going through if she _were_ lost alone in the woods at night.

She was also worried about L.

The child sat curled up on a stool at the counter, angrily throwing sugar cubes into his tea. He stabbed the strawberry on his cake with such ferocity that it indented the cake. She had never seen the boy so, well, _emotional_. The most any of the caretakers had gotten out of him was a slight look of glee when handing him something mostly made of sugar.

And so Mary leaned on the counter towards the boy as her honey colored eyes framed by wrinkles peered at him worriedly.

"L," she simply said. She needed to get his attention first.

His head didn't move up.

Just his eyes.

Rather creepy, actually.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he stated before stabbing his cake again.

She sighed. She knew she wasn't going to get anything out of the boy.

Oh well.

Perhaps he could help ease the older woman's other worry.

She stood from her leaning position, stretching her back, and looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already five**;** the sun would be setting soon.

"Have you seen Claire then? I sen**t** her out to find me some berries for the pie about an hour ago…"

L grunted. "Why would I know where a stupid zombie that talks to trees went?"

Mary chuckled to herself.

Ah-ha.

_That_ was it.

"Why is she stupid?"

"_Because_," he firmly stated.

Mary sighed, the smile on her face fading slightly. She pulled up a stool next to the little genius, and noticed how his grip on the fork tightened slightly. She couldn't get any closer without making him uncomfortable.

"If I tell you why she's not stupid, will you go find her for me?"

* * *

L, armed with a flashlight to battle the setting sun with, headed out with one hand holding said flashlight and another in his pocket. He now understood what schizophrenia was, but he still didn't see it as an excuse to pardon her ability to frustrate him so easily.

He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. For some reason, just thinking of her already got his blood boiling. Whatever. He promised Mary he would find her. He wanted some of that pie, anyways.

L started at his oak tree and headed east. He walked for twenty minutes faster than he usually did, racing the sun, and then realized that he _too _was lost. He, however, did not panic. He was a detective, after all.

Or at least, one in _training_.

The boy's dark eyes scanned the scene. First, he started with the bushes.

Any scraps of fabric left among the branches? No.

Any abnormalities in the plant life? Negative.

Alright then, how about the ground? Any footprints?

Black orbs shined with a satisfied light as they focused some footprints in the soft earth. Grungy sneakers trotted, following them to get to the finish line before the sun did. The pale boy traveled for a good fifteen minutes, and found his goal kneeling on the ground with a basket full of berries to her side. His expression hardened slightly.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets and slowly making his way over to her.

She didn't budge, her wavy brown locks covering her face as she looked down into her lap. L's frustration grew slightly.

"What _are_ you do-"

"I heard you the first time**,**" she said, looking up at him with glazed eyes.

He looked at her, and then at the small creature in her lap. The baby robin lay on its' back, wings spread, chirping quietly, as she ran her thin fingers across it's' **its **breast softly to comfort the poor thing. Lawliet felt his frustration levels decrease. His whole framed softened seeing as he saw the defenseless creature splayed across her khaki shorts. Claire's gaze switched back to the fledgling.

"He fell out of the tree. I can't climb it and carry him up at the same time. I stayed around to see if his mother would be back to come get him, but the trees say she's not coming back… I got all the berries though…" she added sadly.

She held the baby bird gingerly in both hands as she rose to her feet slowly. She turned to L, her grayish-blue eyes meeting his pitch black ones.

"I guess it's time to go. I'd be much obliged if you carried the basket for me**.**"

He nodded, eyes still fixated on the organism in her hands. He absentmindedly reached for the basket. Flicking on the flashlight, they traveled back to the House in silence.

Both minds, however, were the complete opposite.

Claire's was an orchestra of sounds. She heard the trees whispering, the bushes giggling, and the earth wishing they would take lighter steps. The birds bid farewell to their kin, and that he would get well soon.

The ants sang a little working song as they moved among the leaves. The sun bid its farewell to this side of the earth, and bore its greetings to the other.

L was pondering what _she_ would do with the baby bird. Would she care for it? Feed it? Nurture it until it could fly? Or would she just pass it onto one of the caretakers? Would she allow it to die?

His mind was abuzz.

Would she _protect_ it? He could pin down mostly anyone's personalities _just_ by watching them for a day or two. He thought he had her figured out: an annoying girl that was a bit off her rocker and had a horrendous singing voice.

But this whole situation had surprised him for some reason.

She just didn't seem like the type to care.

L stared at her out of the corner of her eye.

She just stared down at the baby bird, crying.

"He's in so much pain. And I can't help him." She choked out, sniffling loudly. The girl would have swatted away the tears running down her face, but didn't for fear of dropping the creature.

L bit his lip. "He'll be fine once we get to the House…"

She looked at him with large**,** wet eyes. "Really? You think so? I hope we can do something for him…"

And she went on and on about how hopefully they could make him better. In about a minute L had to tune her out.

My goodness she was annoying.

But his hate had eased a _just _a little bit.

The score stands L: 0.5. Claire: 17.

* * *

I hope you guys are enjoying the story thus far! Chapter three is already in the works, so you won't have to wait long to get it. And don't forget, reviews are appreciated! Happy New Year!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to **ActionFry** for being an awesome beta-reader, and for reviewing my story! And thanks to **shinobi of the sound **for reviewing and adding this story to their favorites!

Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3: Arthur and Henry

It was late at night, and Claire couldn't sleep.

She was too worried about little Henry. He wouldn't stop crying. He cried for his mom, for his food, for the pain of his broken wing to fade…

She could hear it all.

She cried with him.

She sat in her cot in her pastel colored room. He lay in a box on her nightstand, comforted by clean dishcloths. The caretakers had already come up with a formula to feed the baby, and Claire had a night's worth of supplies of the stuff to give to him. So, with the eyedropper in hand and the box in her lap, she fed him whilst shushing his audible cries into something a bit quieter. She ran her delicate fingers along the bandages had put on his wing, hoping he would heal soon.

"Henry, are you going to be ok?" she whispered to him worriedly.

His voice was that of an infant learning its first words.

It was weak, and tired—but it was thankful all the same. He complained of the cold, and Claire readjusted his dishcloths before returning him to his nightstand. He said _thank you_, and she smiled, happy that he was all right.

She turned, staring into the darkness at the light yellow walls of her room. The moonlight stretched across the walls in streaks. It morphed and distorted, dancing across the wall, onto the floor, and onto the bed. She sat rigid, hands clawing into the blankets.

_Please don't turn into a monster, _she mentally pleaded.

The moonlight laughed, a tinkling of sorts, and said it would do no such thing. It threw itself onto the wall, returning to its linear shape and staying still.

There was so much noise.

Singing, laughing, talking.

It was like the whole world's thoughts were contained in this small bedroom. Claire was thankful for the happy voices. They congratulated her on saving the baby bird, they sang 'Into the Woods', and they asked her how her time at the Wammy House had been so far.

She just whispered to them her responses; she could not be loud for fear of waking the housemates. The voices said not to worry about the housemates. All Claire did was worry about how they perceived her.

_You shouldn't worry,_ they said.

_There's nothing to worry about, _she supposed and turned to her stuffed rabbit plushie Mr. Wammy had given her. She hadn't decided on a name or gender yet.

"I think you should be a boy."

The toy nodded, its eyes lighting up, and long floppy ears twitching happily. _But what's my name?_ he asked.

"I'm not sure what to name you yet," she said, stroking its nose.

It licked her fingertips.

_Maybe you should ask someone else for suggestions?_

"I'll do just that," she decided. She got up, made sure Henry was asleep, and left her room to knock on her neighbor's door.

L, with his habit of not sleeping, opened it. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

She was the last person he expected to see at this hour.

"May I come in?"

"Why?"

_He's rather rude, isn't he?_ the rabbit asked, ears folding back as it looked to the boy. Claire pulled on its ear slightly, silencing the toy.

"Will you help me name him?"

"The bird?"

"No. My rabbit. The bird's name is Henry."

L scratched his left ankle with his right foot and chewed on his thumb absentmindedly.

"Sure. Come in."

"See? He's not that bad," she whispered to the rabbit as she walked in behind her neighbor.

L's room was plain. There was a simple cot with white sheets shoved against the left wall, a desk pushed against the right wall, and mounds and mounds of books stacked haphazardly throughout the whole space. Even the walls were simple—a crisp white.

Claire froze seeing these white walls, digging her fingernails into her stuffed rabbit at the sight of them. The toy squealed, looking up at her.

_Just don't look at them._

She nodded; wrenching her grayish-blue orbs off the walls, and instead focused them on L. The boy, pulling on his lower lip and hunched over, had his dark eyes glued to her. He was observing her, like she was a lab rat.

She shrugged off his gaze, having been long used to people studying her.

Claire shuffled over to his cot, and sat upon it with her toy rabbit sitting in her lap. He sat bolt upright, sniffing the air excessively as L lumbered towards the pair, stopping only a few feet away.

_He hasn't bathed in a few days. _

Claire looked down at her bunny disapprovingly. She swatted him lightly on the nose.

"Don't be rude."

"I didn't say anything…" L answered, running his thumb across his lower lip. Claire switched her murky gaze to the enigma before her. She giggled lightheartedly.

"I'm sorry. Not you. Him," she said, pointing a delicate white finger at the plush toy that, in L's eyes, lay limply in her lap. "He was making unnecessary comments about your personal hygiene."

L scratched that back of his head, feeling the oils congeal under his fingernails. Maybe the rabbit had a point…

"So you needed help naming him?" L asked, stuffing his fists into his pockets. Claire nodded fervently, watching her plush jump down from her lap and onto the floor. He whizzed around L's room, running to and fro between the stacks of books. As L pondered names, his memory going back to the names of authors and characters of books he had recently read, the rabbit stopped to sniff at candy wrappers left on the floor.

"How about Nathaniel? Or Nathan?"

_Makes me think of hot dogs,_ the rabbit said, signaling that that name would not do.

"He said it reminds him of hot dogs."

L mentally chuckled. She was certainly amusing when she wasn't annoying the living daylights out of him.

"So he's deciding his name? Shouldn't you, his adoptive mother, decide?"

Claire shrugged. "Newborns don't have the mental ability to think for themselves. I'm sure if they did, and they had knowledge of names, they would choose their own."

L's fingers returned to his mouth.

"Besides, you got to choose your name, correct? Why can't my bunny do the same?"

L: 0.5. Claire: 18.

It was decided that, after much intellectual deliberation, the bunny would be named Arthur.

Every other name L suggested for the rabbit he had some type of squabble with. Or _Claire_ had some type of squabble with. The raven-haired boy was never sure if she was using the rabbit as a way to express her opinions, or if the rabbit really _did_ have a mind of its own. L never really formed an opinion on that one. One thing was for sure, though: her warped logic was utterly amusing to the young detective.

Afterwards, the conversation somehow drifted to the bird. Henry, as Claire often had to correct L.

"Is he well?"

Claire's expression turned somber, though her eyes still followed Arthur as he attempted to climb a stack of books. L followed her gaze, but when he saw nothing there, his attention returned to the younger girl before him.

"He's hurting quite a bit. But I hope he'll be alright…"

The eight-year-olds eyes shifted from the mischievous plush to the boy before her. L unconsciously bit on his thumbnail hard. Her eyes, dull in color, were still piercing.

"Would you help me with him?" she pleaded, clapping her hands together before her. L shifted his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. He didn't want to spend more time with the zombie then he was forced to, but then again, he _did_ want to help the poor creature in her care.

And so, Lawliet reluctantly agreed.

---

_Mommy! Mommy! I'm hungry! Feed me! Feed me!_

Claire groaned. She hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in about three week's time. Her body was warm with sleep and it just didn't want to move. Her eyelids were as heavy as the law books L had been reading—as were her limbs.

_Mommy! Mommy! Where are you mommy?_

"I'm coming, Henry…" she mumbled, more to herself, and tried moving only to have her small figure argue loudly and collapse back onto L's floor.

The detective switched his gaze lazily from his book to the brunette on the floor a few feet away. He snapped the book shut and wandered over to stand over her with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a bored expression on his face.

The bird had grown much in the past three weeks. Its wing was no longer broken, and it was covered with what the little detective imagined to be its proper flying feathers. Also, Henry seemed to _always_ be hungry.

"Claire, is everything alright?" he asked, hunching forward more than he usually did so he could hear her from her position on the floor. She groaned again, throwing an arm over her head. Sleep didn't seem to want to leave her.

"Henry's hungry," she slurred, barely audible.

L bit his thumbnail.

He felt somewhat guilty. He hadn't _really_ helped out with the bird. Claire tended to feed Henry and change his dishcloths when they got dirty. She was the one that dealt with his constant chirping in her room, and obviously, she was paying for it. L's role, in his eyes, was just to keep the girl with some human company and fetch the eyedropper.

"I'll feed him," he stated, and strolled over to her room before the girl could argue. Claire, finally able to at least partially open her eyes, watched as the raven-haired boy exited his room and entered the hallway. She sighed, confused.

L, though he felt guilty about not helping in the care for the creature, never tried to help. Claire thought he was waiting for her to _tell him_ to care for the bird. But she never did, fearing that either he really didn't want to, or that he was somewhat _afraid_ of the fragile little organism.

So why the sudden want? He could've waited a few minutes and the girl would've been up to go feed him.

Feeling sleep finally release its grasp on her limbs, she raised her hand to rub her eye. She could hear Henry's cries cease. Her lips turned slightly up at the corners, smiling to herself.

Claire's ears picked up the sound of L closing the door to her room. She heard his footsteps approach, slow and dragging against the carpet.

He passed her, eyes focused on his bed and his book.

"He said thank you."

L sat on his bed with his book in his lap. He flipped to the page he was on and began reading.

"He also says not to be afraid to touch him. He won't break that easily."

L's eyes snapped to her, and quickly looked away. A slight flush crept over his face as she giggled.

_She was truly an annoying girl_, L concluded.

His inky eyes turned to her for a second. Claire was now on her stomach, propped on her elbows. She was staring intently at the carpet, running her delicate fingers over it.

He could only imagine what her mind did with such a simple thing as beige carpeting.

She giggled to herself as the carpet turned to wheat and grew up around her. It grew tall, casting shadows all over the room. Wildflowers popped up here and there. Dragonflies weaved in and out between the stalks. One landed on L's nose. She tried her best to stifle her laughter as it fluttered its wings.

L, for the life of him, couldn't see what was so funny.

He sighed with, for some odd reason, contentment.

Turning back to his book, L re-evaluated his conclusion.

She was certainly an _amusing_ girl. Perhaps he wouldn't be so bored.

Thank you for reading! Positive or negative feedback is welcomed. :]


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Learning Experiences

It was raining hard outside. The wind blew violently, screaming, as the trees shrieked their insults to the wind for blowing off their leaves. The sky was dark and ominous looking. It chuckled deeply, like a fat man, every moment before it would clap its big meaty hands together to create lightning.

She wondered if Henry was doing alright. He had only been out in the world for a few days now…

"Mademoiselle Blair, please stop staring out the window."

The girl sighed. She could hear the ants crawling along the windowsill giggling through their mandibles as she turned towards the caretaker/teacher at the front of the class.

She hated her 'code' name.

"Please call me Claire. I'm not a witch."

The teacher, Madam Bertha, an Englishwoman who _swore_ she was French, frowned at the girl. She was relatively young compared to the other caretakers here—she was in her mid thirties. Having been a private tutor before claiming her current occupation at the Wammy House, she had no patience for those who didn't want to listen to what she had to say. She haughtily brushed a strand of silken auburn colored hair behind her left ear as her dark eyes flashed towards the young girl seated only a few feet away.

"Fine, Mademoiselle Claire. But please, pay attention. I'm quite certain that you need to know…"

"Basic arithmetic? I'm sure everyone in this room already knows that."

Bertha's eyebrows knit together, her hands firmly on her hips.

"...I mean, aren't we all _brilliant_?"

Claire was extremely ecstatic when Bertha kicked her out of class.

* * *

She was bored. Everyone was still in class. Henry was out facing nature's forces. L was, for some reason, in Ireland with Mr. Wammy.

Sitting alone in the library, huddled against the windowsill, the brunette pressed her cheek against the cool glass. The voices from the outside world were loudest now, either complaining about the wind or praising the rain.

However, Claire realized that it didn't matter how many voices filled her ears or echoed out of the books and onto the walls. It didn't matter that she could feel the rain pelting all over her flesh even thought she was safe indoors. Even with all the distractions her mind threw at her every day, she couldn't find something that kept her mind off of her baby bird out facing the world alone.

She really wanted to go see Henry.

The eight year old stood from her seated position on the windowsill and ran down the stairs, through the foyer, through the kitchen, and was about to reach the door handle when firm hands scooped her up by her armpits. The young girl let out an ear-splitting shriek, her over-active mind telling her the hands were actually talons of a huge thunderbird that was going to carry her off into the thunderclouds to its nest and feed her to the thunderbird chicks. She kicked violently, swinging herself to and fro frantically.

"C-Claire!"

"NO! I don't wanna be bird food!" she screeched. She was crying now, feeling herself reaching higher and higher altitudes. She could feel the beat of the mighty bird's wings on her back, and she tried her best to shake it off.

Mary, aware that the girl was probably having an episode, clung onto her as best she could, trying to keep the child away from kicking the older woman in the stomach. It was a difficult task since she was not trying to drop the poor girl.

"I'd rather fall to my death then be fed to your fledglings!"

"Clarisse! It's Mary!" the nurse stated forcefully, trying as best as she could to set the child down on the floor.

"Lies! You're a thunderbird that swept me up to feed to your babies!"

Mary was able to set her down, but the brunette was on her back now, swatting the air with her small hands furiously, her eyes shut tightly to avoid having them pecked out. The older woman grabbed the girl's wrists, and called her name once—forcefully—causing the child to come back in touch with reality. Claire looked at her caretaker with wide and wet, dull eyes. She started crying again at the sight of Mary's sympathetic face.

"I'm s-s-sorry!" the girl sobbed out, streaks running from her eyes and nose.

"Shh, child. It's alright," the nurse cooed, standing and brushing the dirt off her uniform. "Now, what's all this nonsense about thunderbirds?"

* * *

Mary had learned a few things while she taught Claire the fine art of baking—or that's what she told the girl she was _going_ to do. Really, the caretaker felt so bad for scaring the poor girl that she had to do _something_.

As she whisked together flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, and ground cinnamon, the older woman learned how worried the little girl was over her little bird out there in the woods on his own. The child's misconduct had worried the caretaker, but upon hearing whom the tutor was, all worry flowed away from her face like the eggs, oil, and vanilla extract she was pouring into the bowl. Bertha could really be a pain in the arse.

"I hate her," Claire said, pouting, as she mashed bananas to put in the cake.

That last swing was a little too forceful, seeing how the child ended up with some of the pulverized fruit on her small face.

Mary sighed. "I'll handle the pineapple and pecans."

"What are we making?" Claire asked inquisitively, dull eyes growing bright.

"Hummingbird cake," the elder woman smiled, and frowned upon seeing the little girls' face become stricken with horror.

"I-it's not made with real hummingbirds!" Mary promised, dividing the batter between two cake pans.

That was another thing she had learned about the child; one had to be very careful with what words they chose around her. She tended to take things quite literally.

"Oh!" she squeaked, relief spreading across her features. Claire scooted up to the counter, and stood on her toes, her nose resting atop the counter.

"It smells good. What do we do now?"

"We put it in the oven and wait."

The girl's face scrunched up. "I want to make something, if it's not too much trouble…"

Mary tilted her head to the side, puzzled. The girl had been shocked that things like cake and cookies did not come from a fairy that lived in the cupboard. Now she wanted to make something?

"Something with strawberries, preferably."

"…For L?"

"Yes!" the girl quipped, grinning widely. "Lawliet loves strawberries!"

* * *

"Thank you, Mary. I'm sorry to bother you so late in the evening."

"No trouble at all, Sir," the caretaker smiled kindly, taking Wammy's coat. The pair, Wammy and L, had just returned from Ireland. Unfortunately, their plane had been delayed a few hours due to bad weather, and as such, they were returning home under the cover of early morning darkness.

"What's that smell?" the young detective asked, instantly recognizing the scent of baked goods.

Mary chuckled to herself, taking the younger boy's coat. He stiffened, but she paid him no mind.

"Claire and I were baking today for your arrival-"

L had already zoomed off towards the heavenly scent of strawberries.

"He seems excited," Wammy chuckled, walking at his normal pace towards the kitchen.

Mary rolled her eyes. "He's going to be _very_ surprised."

Once L reached the kitchen, he literally drooled at the sight of hummingbird cake slathered in cream cheese frosting. But… where were the strawberries?!

The boy sniffed frantically throughout the kitchen until he found his prize… only to frown at the sight of them.

Burnt strawberry and banana muffins… and then there were the strawberries filled with cream…

They were splintered, squashed, and utterly destroyed.

_WHAT IS THIS BLASPHEMY?! THESE POOR STRAWBERRIES!_

The diminutive detective almost felt like crying at the loss.

"Now, L, I know they don't _look_ like much, but Claire worked very hard to make these for you."

Lawliet's frown widened. "Can't you just _tell_ her I ate them?"

Mary frowned, about to open her mouth and scold the boy, only to have Wammy raise a hand to her. The caretaker shut her mouth, curious to what the old gentleman was going to tell L.

"L. Put yourself in Claire's position: how would you feel if you made something for someone, only to have them not appreciate it?"

L brought his thumb to his mouth, and chewed on it, thinking.

"Horrible, I 'spose." The diminuitive detective concluded.

Wammy nodded, smiling and sipping his tea.

"…I guess _one_ bite won't hurt…" the boy trailed off.

L was washing the taste of burnt pastry out of his mouth for the next few days.

* * *

Thank you to **ActionFry **and **JustMeGera** for reviewing the last chapter! Hope you guys enjoy it!


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